Howl Of The Carrion King
by Fail Master
Summary: In the desert nation of Katapesh, Aesur is taken from his nomadic life and forced into a plot to retake a forgotten city. But he never could of predicted how much this one person would come to mean to him. Rated for slash, language, blood, violence.
1. Discovery

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Pathfinder franchise, which I will borrowing from heavily during this story, any coincedence from a character to a person in real life is not intentional, etc, etc...

**Claimer: **But I do own sexy!Aesur/Firon and these stories, so you can't have them. ;D

**Warning:** This'll be good 'ol boy on boy fiction, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, plz leave kthxbai. Also there'll be much slaughtering of gremlins, dog people, and desert baddies so if violence/death isn't your cup of tea, again, plz leave kthxbai. And heed the fic rating as well. No slashy-type stuff yet, but we'll get to that later. :D

* * *

**Discovery**

**_Chapter 1_**

When I wake up, my body shivers in the cool desert air. My fingers stretch out, reaching for my pack that holds a small satchel of firepowder. Which happens to be the only substance that has been capable of warming me up during the early-morning daybreaks of late. The sun heats things up considerably during when its light out, but in its absence, only the bitter cold reigns over the desert nights.

Sitting up, I untie the small cloth pouch and pour a small amount of its contents onto the sand a good foot away. As I retie the satchel back up, I carefully watch as the powder and sand begin to smoke, and then a fire bursts into creation. The person who invented firepowder must have been a genius, to be able to make a substance that instantaneously combusts upon contact with any variant of sand. Not to mention the fortune he or she must have made off the stuff.

Yawning, I pull myself out of my sleeping bag and begin to pack up my things. The heat from the fire helps immensely, and before long, all the stiff joints in my body have warmed up and work well again. Sometimes I find myself wishing that I could have bought a better insulated bag, but then again, it would have been much more bulkier to carry. And it would have been a hindrance when hunting.

Hunting in the desert is difficult, but once you learn which kind of animals live in what kind of burrows, it becomes much easier to do. And the sporadic patches of cactuses often prove themselves to be good sources of water and effective places for cover. Which is exactly why I am sitting in the middle of a large cacti patch this very second. Wouldn't want to fall asleep out in the open and be carried off to be devoured by some nocturnal predator.

I place all my meager belongings into the middle of the sleeping bag and roll it up tightly, until the cluster of objects only measure a good foot in diameter. Small enough to carry on my back but not too large that it would become unfavorable in the case where I'd have to move quickly.

Next I move onto my quiver and longbow. Not one to have many friends, these two are the closest things to that. My hands are so used to the curved grip of the bow and the soft fletching of the handmade arrows. Gifts from my previous master when he set me free those four years earlier.

Not many people could guess it, but for most of my life I, Aesur Sandwalker, have been a slave. When I was six, my small village on the outskirts of Katapesh was raided, and my parents were killed. I don't really remember much, so the pain in thinking of them isn't too great. Sometimes I think that's a blessing. Still… I do miss them, and some nights I dream of what it might've been like if they weren't killed and I captured.

I moved from master to master during my early years, learning how to cook, clean, and serve. Then, when I got old enough, my chores gradually shifted from the menial household work into the more laborious kind. I wasn't well fed, and all my owners were cruel to some extent, most wholly uncaring and brutal. I learned to keep quiet until I was told to speak, and to obey orders at the snap of a finger.

Then, at the age of seventeen, I was bought by a kind, caring old man. He worked even at his ripe age to earn enough money so he could buy slaves and set them free. I never did ask why he went to so much trouble to do so. I only stayed with him for a day, and then the next morning he was gone. Only the bow and quiver were left behind. Not so much as a note. I still don't know his name.

Next I traveled back to Katapesh and lived on the streets for the most part. As much as I hate to admit it, I did steal food and supplies. But only what I needed. And the guards never once caught me, so some benevolent god or goddess must have been watching over me.

After awhile, I realized that living outside the city might prove more productive. I was sick of stealing food for myself. I thought maybe I could acquire some in a more honest way. I hired a guide who taught me how to survive the drastic temperature changes of the desert and badlands, and where food lay in wait for me to hunt it. Before long I learned how to live in the wilderness alone, and I had no need for a guide any longer.

I close my eyes and put my hands over the warmth radiated by the artificial fire. Living alone has its advantages. I never have to share. I don't have to worry about whether another person is being too loud on the hunt. I only have to take care of myself. But once in awhile I find myself feeling a bit lonely. These periods of time always pass.

Standing up, I strap on my leather armor and many black harnesses, protective armor that keeps me safe from the dangers of the wild, whether the threat is living or natural in temperament. I slip my bow and quiver into the many bindings, feeling them enter snugly into their confinement.

And then I smell something strange. Something familiar; an almost acrid scent. A few moments pass and I recognize the odor with a shudder. Smoke! I look at my dying fire, and see that there is no foggy gas rising up from the flames. Of course, there wouldn't be, as the conflagrations were started by firepowder that produces absolutely no smoke at all due to its unique chemistry.

Looking around, I see nothing but spiny, glossy plants blocking my view. But something is burning. I'm sure of it, and I want to find out what. I carefully edge between the many cacti lining my small camp, and emerge from the forest of dangerous fauna. And there, on the horizon, is the telltale sign of fire, the flames licking high against the brightening sky. An ugly cloud of black smoke hovers above the blazing image like a foreboding omen. But I'm not one to believe in silly superstitions.

I break off at a light sprint, dashing across the barren landscape around me. Sand has become easier to run in, as I've grown accustomed to the extra force needed to be able to run through the light, ever-shifting soil. Not to say that it's a breeze, I grow tired just like any other person attempting this particular feat.

After about a several hundred feet, I cross over a large dune and become still at the scene before me. I've never seen anything like it. In the middle of the clearing, a giant tree fashioned in the shape of an outstretched talon is fiercely ablaze, the flickering flame emitting an impressive amount of heat even standing good fifty feet away.

One wagon is on fire as well, and seems to be the center of attention for those in the camp. Elaborate painted moons and stars on the cart are slowly devoured by the encroaching flames, and people frantically rush back and forth trying to douse the blaze. A gout of smoke pours from an open door, and appears to be the source of most of the large cloud hanging over the ill-fated site.

I dart down the other side of the dune towards the campsite, and as I get closer I see that the members of the group are traveling between two wagons. One is loaded with a large water barrel and the other is the burning cart, dumping bucketfuls of water onto the crackling fire. I quickly move to get in line, and am handed a spare bucket by a middle-aged looking woman. At first her face is suspicious, but she nods and points me on my way to the water barrel. I don't blame her, they probably need all the help they can get.

As I reach the cart, I scoop my bucket into the vat of liquid and fill it up, dashing back to the burning carriage as fast as I can without spilling my pail. When I splash the water onto the fiery wreck, a small section is put out and charred, black wood is revealed underneath. The crackling of the fire and shouts around the camp are getting to me. I've lived in the silence of the wilderness for so long, an event of this caliber is making me jumpy and nervous.

I tell myself to calm down, and I stalk away from the blazing cart. My heart is pounding in my ears, and my head feels funny. There is a shout, and I only have a split second to react as a pair of middle-aged farmers dash past me, chasing a herd of runaway goats, which probably escaped in the confusion.

The inferno is starting to die down, the combined efforts of those in the camp putting the flames to rest. I stand up to try and help again, but by the time I reach the wagon, the fire has all but disappeared. A murmuring crowd surrounds the burnt husk of a vehicle, looking at each other distrustfully. It seems as if this wasn't an accident.

There's a beautiful woman kneeling by the wagon, her head bowed in what appears to be deep sorrow. No one is speaking to her, but close by is a cowled man with a peppered beard, a pitiful expression splayed across his angular features. Standing behind the burnt tree is another man, with long, black, tangled hair and ragged, but draping clothes. His face is unreadable; the only thing visible is a dark scowl penetrating out from behind his greasy locks.

One by one, the crowd dissipates until there are only six left, the woman, the sharp-featured man, and the suspicious looking figure still cowering behind the tree. There are two others, a broad-shouldered man draped in blue and silver robes, alongside an old man with a long white beard. And then there's me, silent as ever, apparently not noticed by the others just yet.

Pepperbeard takes a step forward and places his hand on the woman's shoulder. "Almah. I'm sorry he had to go like this… I know you two were close."

The woman, apparently named Almah, slowly stands up and faces the man, her face as blank as a statue's. "Thank you Garavel. But Eloais's death cannot cause us to slow. You know our goal."

Garavel's face betrays his shock, but it is soon replaced by a look of concern. "Yes, Miss Almah. How could I forget?"

The woman nods and then turns towards the old man. "Father Zastoran, please go and take care of the wounded. Your skills will be much appreciated in speeding their recovery."

Grumbling something about prices, Zastoran hobbles off to a wagon on the other side of the clearing and disappears into the folds. For a moment I wonder what he could do to help, and then remember that Almah had used the title Father with him, and surmise he could be a cleric.

But before the elderly priest remerges from his tent, I am suddenly noticed. It is Almah, her finger pointing directly towards my body. "You there! How did you get here? What is your purpose?" Garavel fingers his hilt of a dagger that had previously been concealed in his shrouds. I need to convince them I mean no harm, and fast.

Too bad I'm not much of a talker. "I… uh… I've been hunting in the area to the east, and saw the flames and decided to come help. I'm not going to hurt any of you..."

I eye her friend Garavel's weapon. "B-believe me, that's the last thing I want to do."

Almah narrows her eyes at me. Then barks out an order. "Garavel. I think he started the fire. And now he's spouting lies. In order to gain an opportunity to sabotage us further later on."

Fear arcs through my mind. She doesn't believe me, and now I'm in trouble. "N-no, really, I-"

The woman shouts over my protests, glaring at me while calming ordering, "Kill him."


	2. Suspicion

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Pathfinder franchise, which I will borrowing from heavily during this story, any coincedence from a character to a person in real life is not intentional, etc, etc...

**Claimer: **But I do own sexy!Aesur/Firon and these stories, so you can't have them. ;D

**Warning:** This'll be good 'ol boy on boy fiction, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, plz leave kthxbai. Also there'll be much slaughtering of gremlins, dog people, and desert baddies so if violence/death isn't your cup of tea, again, plz leave kthxbai. And heed the fic rating as well. No slashy-type stuff yet, but we'll get to that later. :D

* * *

**Suspicion**

**_Chapter 2_**

I take a step backwards in shock. Kill me? Would she really order someone to do that? As Garavel begins a steady gait in my direction, the answer quickly becomes apparent. I open my mouth to try and stop him, but nothing comes out. Years upon years of staying silent unless ordered hasn't helped my social skills very much.

Panicking, I raise my hands out in front of me for defense. A split second later I realize I should have drawn my bow and arrow, but Garavel now is too close for that.

A clear, deep voice rings throughout the clearing, stopping the woman's servant in his tracks. "Almah, I think we should hear this guy out. Who knows, if he didn't do it, maybe he has the knowledge of who did." It was the man in the navy and silver robes, his face looking at me expectantly to answer.

Understanding his tactic, I quickly nodded. "Yes, I could help find the culprit. Er... if you need my services. I mean, if you want..." Never a person having a way with words, I closed my mouth before I said something that might change Almah's mind.

The woman took a moment. Ages seemed to pass. Then she slowly nodded. "Fine, Firon. But I'm not taking care of him. He's your responsibility now. Don't come crying to me when he's gone and you have a dagger buried in between your shoulderblades."

The robed man, Firon, laughed loudly. "Don't worry Almah, I can take care of myself. Otherwise you wouldn't have hired me, right?"

His words sent a chill down my spine. So apparently this Firon was dangerous. Not that it would matter, I wasn't going to try and run away anytime soon. Even with my skills of living in the wilderness I wasn't crazy enough to leave the promise of company in these wastes.

"Hmph. I suppose so." Almah's gaze was sharp, and I have the distinct impression that she dislikes me. Which is ridiculous, since I technically haven't even done anything wrong. She'll see that there isn't anything to worry about eventually.

Then the woman speaks again. "Garavel. I'd like you to investigate as to whom exactly started this fire. And you too, Firon, you arrived just as the fire started, so you're not the culprit." He nods.

Almah's eyes pass over me, lingering for a moment before flicking back to the cleric. "And take him with you. Don't want him sowing seeds of suspicion in the other members of this caravan."

Anger flares up inside of me. "B-but... I didn't set the wagon on fire! ...I wasn't even here when it started!"

Garavel coughs and says, "Well, young man, I never saw you until after the blaze was put out. You could have easily slipped into the camp, lit the wagon, then hid until now."

I give an exasperated sigh, and rack my mind of who could have done the crime. My gaze drifts over Almah, then Garavel, Firon, the wagon where Zastoran was in… and…

There he is. That scraggly looking man behind the tree, looking at us with such scornful eyes. "Um, Almah, I think he might have done it..." I point my finger at the figure, my voice wavering with trepidation. The man quickly straightens up, clearly not aware that anyone could notice him, and his face swiftly transforms into one of fear.

Garavel smirks, and Almah only laughs. "Him? Dashki? He's our gnoll expert, and despite his appearances… I doubt he'd try something like this."

Firon however, looks thoughtful. It looks like he doesn't quite believe Almah. I can't help feeling happy that there's someone present that doesn't blindly follow the apparent leader of the caravan's opinion.

I rack my mind, trying to remember information about gnolls. All I can come up with are images of hyena-headed creatures with sharp teeth and blood running down their muzzles. Wouldn't someone who calls themselves an expert on those savage beasts be capable of such a wicked act?

As if on cue, Dashki runs up to the group of us, a look of frantic worry on his face. "I did not set the fire, I was not even near it when it began to burn!"

Then it's Garavel's turn to speak. "So then, where were you when the fire started?"

"I- uh- I was finishing up my dinner by the campsite, when I saw the wagon go up. I ran over to the water barrel and helped put it out. I swear it!" Dashki's eyes are panicked, and I find myself feeling a little sorry for the man.

Almah shakes her head. "I see. This man here says you may have done it. What do you say to that?" Immediately I regret pointing my finger in his direction, in order to save myself from a most likely brutal fate.

Dashki shakes his head violently in refusal, his long black hair whipping around in the air. "No! I had nothing to do with the fire! How do we even know the fire was set on purpose? That idiot burned a hundred candles in his wagon. Perhaps he just got unlucky. We're in gnoll country, so it was probably pugwampis."

Firon took a step forward, livid anger lining his features. "He was no idiot, and you better have more respect for those who have departed from this world, Dashki. Or else." I'm surprised by his sudden anger. Perhaps he had been a friend of this Eloais.

The gnoll expert glared at the navy-robed man, and his fury was almost palpable. "Or else what, stargazer? Will you send a swarm of butterflies after me?" Understanding dawns on me. The robed man must be a cleric of Desna, the goddess of luck, stars, and travel. Her sacred symbol is a silver butterfly, and to use it in offense is particularly insulting.

First shock, then pure rage transforms Firon's striking features. "I'll personally make sure that you-"

Before I know what's happening, I find myself standing between the pair, arms outstretched. I don't like the fighting. And it's most definitely not what we need to be focusing on at the moment. "Stop it. Please. You said something about pugwampis Dashki... what are those?" Hopefully, with a change of subject, this particular fire will die out before it causes any damage.

Dashki's expression is grateful, and he plunges into a detailed description. "Terrible critters who crawled up from below the earth long ago. 'Jackal rats' some folks call them, on account of their pointed little heads. They worship gnolls as gods and infest their communities like rats. Wherever pugwampis go, bad luck is sure to follow. The gnolls hate the pugwampis because of this, and try to kill them all the time. But they always come back. Perhaps their bad luck caused the fortune-man's candles to start a fire? Yes. Pugwampis. I'm certain it was because of pugwampis."

Almah looks intrigued. "A pugwampi? Never heard of it before." Garavel shakes his head as well, appearing to be a bit interested. "Neither have I. But Dashki is our gnoll expert, and if he says they are real, then…"

Firon interjects his opinion into the conversation. "Or he could be making all of this up in order to lead us off his trail." It seems that the sting of Dashki's previous insult hasn't worn off quite yet.

I quickly realize that time is running out. If it was indeed one of these pugwampis, then it must be running away this very moment. "I don't think... it's Dashki's trail that we need to be worrying about. Do the pugwampi leave footprints behind?"

The gnoll expert nods in affirmation. Excellent, just what I needed to hear.

"I'm pretty good at tracking. I can go out and find the little monster for you... if it's alright, Almah."

Firon looks at me, his face unreadable. "Or you might not find it and everything just gets a lot more confusing." Gods, this man dislikes the thought of following Dashki's plan. Perhaps he thinks that he could come up with a better one.

Almah throws her hands up into the air and shouts loudly, "Just go! Bring me back proof of this pugwampi beast and I'll forget about this little incident. But if you come back empty handed…" The woman trails off, her eyes cold. I receive the message loud and clear. Find a pugwampi, otherwise Dashki and I are in trouble. Big trouble.

With an almost regal twist of her figure, Almah turns away and stalks off to an elaborately cowled wagon, draped in pink silks. Garavel follows, even as the woman enters the cart and into her private quarters. I raise an eyebrow at Firon, but he shakes his head. "No, it's not what you think. Garavel is only her loyal servant. There is nothing romantic about their relationship. Believe me, I've been traveling with this group for quite some time, and there isn't anything going on worth taking note of."

I feel a bit ashamed at thinking the worst. But it was a rational assumption of course. Right? No matter, I need to concentrate on the task at hand now.

The gnoll expert begins to slink away, but I catch him before he gets too far. "Dashki... You know about these pugwampi creatures better than anyone. I'd... I'd like it if you came with me and Firon." The man looks a bit surprised, perhaps at being spoken to in such a kind fashion. I'm starting to get the sense that not everyone is particularly pleasant to the scraggly man.

"I… I will show you what the tracks look like. And where they might be hiding. But I won't get near those tiny demons. I've seen enough of those for a lifetime." The knoll expert's face is serious. I wonder if the story about these creatures' unluckiness is truly real.

"Right. These 'unlucky tiny demons.' I'm shaking in my boots." I have a second to see Firon's frustrated expression before he turns around and stomps off.

Dashki looks depressed, and I definitely feel bad for him. "Just... ignore what he's saying. I believe you Dashki. So what he thinks doesn't matter."

The gnoll expert's face brightens, and then lessens once again. "Yes. But he must not underestimate the pugwampis, they are more troublesome than you know."

My head shakes in agreement; I tend not to like to underestimate problems anyways. With a nervous laugh I replicate what Firon had said previously about me. "Don't worry. I'll be sure to keep an eye on him."

Dashki only gives me a blank stare, and retreats back to his wagon, disappearing from view. An exasperated sigh escapes my lungs; looks like things weren't running as smoothly in the caravan as they had first appeared to be.


	3. Mischance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Pathfinder franchise, which I will borrowing from heavily during this story, any coincedence from a character to a person in real life is not intentional, etc, etc...

**Claimer: **But I do own sexy!Aesur/Firon and these stories, so you can't have them. ;D

**Warning:** This'll be good 'ol boy on boy fiction, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, plz leave kthxbai. Also there'll be much slaughtering of gremlins, dog people, and desert baddies so if violence/death isn't your cup of tea, again, plz leave kthxbai. And heed the fic rating as well. No slashy-type stuff yet, but we'll get to that later. :D

* * *

**Mischance**

**_Chapter 3_**

My face hits the sandy ground for what must be the fourth time in the past hour, a loud curse escaping from my mouth. Tentatively, I push myself up, looking around to try and find the object that caused me to fall. Unfortunately, the ground is frustratingly barren except for the sand strewn across the surface of the desert floor. Firon turns around ahead of me, a smirk playing across his face. "Having some trouble again with our balance today, Aesur Sandwalker?"

He had been poking fun at my ever increasing mishaps on our journey to find the being that might not exist. The cleric hadn't fallen once, but my feet apparently didn't feel like cooperating together in order to walk today. Maybe it was the heat.

I usually hunt during the night, for obvious reasons. Temperatures during the day were stifling hot in the areas around Katapesh, and without cover one could easily suffer from sunburn within minutes. But wrapping one's self up in protective clothes just tends to make the heat more unbearable.

With a small sigh, I reach out and pull myself up, ignoring Firon's jab at my sinking ego. The other man had asked to pursue the pugwampi in the dark, but Dashki had insisted that the beast would be much easier to pursue in the daytime. And it would; even my knowledge about tracking wouldn't be sufficient enough to find one of the beasts in the dark.

Of course, it seemed awfully convenient that the gnoll expert had leave of duty, the order issued by Almah herself on account of his fears. I may not agree with Firon on some points, but I do agree with him on the worrying subject of Almah's over-trusting nature towards Dashki.

"Tripping's... nothing I can't handle." Dusting myself off, I try to avoid eye contact with Firon and continue on, following the trail of small footprints. The prints look like tiny puppy paws, but the nature of the creature is most definitely different than an average canine. The tracks had led us three into hill country, along with another set of tracks, these the hesitant tread of what appears to be a goat. Seemingly pulled away against its will.

"Well, it's not the first time you've tripped over your own feet. Do you always lumber around like that?"

Shaking my head, I stop and turn around, an edge placed onto my voice. "I'm a self-sustaining hunter. Do you really think I'm clumsy?"

Firon holds up his hands in mock defensiveness, and I realize too late he was joking. "Hey, hey, no need to get angry. And you shouldn't be getting so mad at me, because I'm the one keeping an eye on you." The cleric runs a hand through his short, but wellkept, dirty-blonde hair. "Almah might change her mind about the whole execution thing if I give her a bad report."  
T  
hat shut me up. Slowly but surely, Firon is getting on my nerves with his attitude. It only figures that he's the one that holds my fate in his hands. "I'm sorry… it won't happen again." Once more, my inbred passiveness kicks in. It's not so bad sometimes, when it happens when I really need it.

An exasperated smile creeps across the cleric's face. "Aesur, I'm just kidding. I wouldn't do that to someone, I don't think-"

Before I get a chance to angrily retort, both of us freeze, a heavy tension settling over the immediate area. It's as if the natural stress in the environment skyrocketed all of a sudden. I find myself expecting something terrible to ensue even though nothing obvious around me has changed in the slightest. It appears Firon feels the same way, his features obviously worried and anxious.

A brief cry comes out from behind the crest of a hill ahead, not unlike the scream of a child. Firon seems to be thoroughly spooked, but I know better. It may sound like a human, but the cry actually came from a young goat. Which would match the tracks that I found earlier. But why would a pugwampi want a goat?

"I know what you're thinking Firon. But... that howl was from a goat, not a person."

He looks visibly calmer. "So whatever kidnapped the animal is up ahead?"

All I can do is nod in affirmation. Moving quickly, I reach the top of the hill in a rush, worried for the well being of the baby goat. Stretched out before me, and Firon after he succeeds in arriving at the hilltop as well, is a large field of cacti. The spiny plants are surprisingly tall, and one could almost call the grouping of fauna a small, but legitimate forest.

"Wow." The cleric's words echo my own thoughts, but then a flash of gray fur and another bleat snaps my attention back in focus. This time, the shout had a timbre of pain to it. Without another word, Firon begins to sprint down the dusty, rocky hill and into the cacti forest, disappearing from view.

I follow, but am careful not to trip and fall on any of the rocks around me. The aura of unease still hangs in the air, and suddenly the information that pugwampis are supposedly unlucky creatures chooses to resurface within my mind. If I was only falling on the ground earlier, and if this odd feeling in the air is their 'unlucky aura', who knows what could happen.

As to exemplify my point, a yell of frustration, definitely human, comes from within the cacti. Dashing into the conglomeration of plants, I try to be as careful as I can in maneuvering through the cacti. It doesn't quite work. As cautious as I am, numerous scrapes and scratches line my face and hands, the pain infuriatingly distracting.

I reach a small clearing in the forest, where an angry looking Firon and a small goat tied to a scrub brush are located as well. On the other side of the clearing, there is a sharp drop off to a deep ravine. I don't even want to get close to the edge, not with the pugwampi in the close vicinity.

The goat is tied to a scrub brush by a hairy, knotted length of rope, and cactus quills cover the length of his body, blood oozing from numerous puncture wounds. The cleric bends down and tries to free the animal by untying the knots, but the goat responds in turn by squirming and bleating in terror. Firon falls backwards, and promptly begins to let out a long stream of curses directed towards the goat's immediate family. Looks like this will be a little more difficult than we thought.

Still crying out in fear, the goat begins to run in panicked circles around Firon, entangling him in the knots. "No! Stop it you! Aesur, help me with this damned creature!" His robed arms are flailing in the air, trying to keep his balance. With a jolt, I realize he is dangerously close to the edge of the ravine. This isn't good.

As fast as my legs can take me, I race to the remaining length of rope and unsheathe my dagger, the blade glinting in the midafternoon sunlight. It only takes one strike to slash through the rope, the metal of the blade cutting cleanly through the frayed spot I chose to target. Firon falls over onto the ground, and the goat speeds off back into the forest, disappearing from view once again.

I extend my hand out to Firon, and he grasps it and pulls himself up. His face is grateful, and something else I couldn't quite read was present too. Was it appreciation? "Thanks Aesur. That was some pretty damn quick thinking on your part. Otherwise I'd probably be lying at the bottom of that cliff over there." The cleric begins to laugh, but how he can look at the situation in a humorous light, I can't quite understand.

Before I can answer, the rustling of cacti causes us to whirl around in surprise, and something small and quick darts out from the foliage. Firon backs up, careful not to fall in the ravine, but my trained eyes spot what the creature looks like before it gets too close. My body involuntarily shrinks away from what it sees. Like the world's most revolting lapdog learned to move around on its back legs, the sickly canine creature darts forward carefully, filmy white eyes darting this way and that. It is clothed in filthy rags; the nasty little thing snarling and yelping as it spots Firon and me. Then it notices the goat missing, and brandishes the oversized dagger in its tiny hands with a vengeful bark.

"It's a pugwampi." Firon's words once again echo my mind's thoughts, and for a moment all three of us in the clearing only stare at each other. And then, with a shriek of rage, the pugwampi lifts a hand and points at my held dagger. In seconds, the weapon begins to shake and wobble, falling apart at the hilt and tumbling to the ground in useless pieces. I look up at Firon, and his incredulous expression mirrors mine. Things are getting worse every second.

In a practiced movement, I unstrap the bow attached to my back and hold it in front of me, drawing an arrow and nocking it in place. The pugwampi giggles in glee and retreats back into the forest, a dirty looking arrow careening over Firon's head just seconds later. I notice he still is unarmed. "Firon? Don't you... well... have a weapon? Almah said you could take care of yourself in a fight."

His sheepish expression surprised me, until he said, "I didn't think I'd need them... I didn't believe Dashki that this thing was real."

Another arrow flew through the air, this time directed towards myself, promptly cutting off my remark. Now wasn't the time to chitchat. Aiming at the place where the pugwampi had disappeared, I waited for another arrow to emerge. There! I duck as another arrow is fired from the brush and release my own at where the projectile had appeared, and hear a satisfying yelp. I don't take pleasure in my kills, but I recognize that sometimes it has to be done.

Firon stands up, and begins to congratulate me. "Good work Aesur! You're surprisingly skilled with that bow there… going to have to teach me a trick or two. I couldn't handle one of those if my life depended on it!" His lighthearted laugh and attitude confused me again, but it was nice to see someone looking on the bright side of this situation for once. I suppose Firon wasn't really so bad when you got to know him.

We brought the pugwampi back to the camp, and arrived at dusk. On the way back, Firon triumphantly found pieces of burned Harrow deck cards within the little monster's rags, tying its involvement to the fire. At least now my name was cleared, and Dashki's as well.

Almah had accepted the pugwampi with a smoldering yet satisfied look in her eyes, and I had understood that she was looking at her friend Eloais's murderer. After a few moments she ordered Garavel to take care of the corpse, and turned towards Firon and me.

Almah'd thanked us for our work, and her tone was genuine. I could tell she no longer suspected my part in the crime and actually commended my actions to a certain degree. That much was clear when she asked me to join Firon on the task she had hired him for. She was planning to retake the village of Kelmarane, an order issued to her from the Pactmasters of Katapesh. Pactmasters are the governing body in the capital city of Katapesh, so one is both wise and honored to do exactly what they tell one to do.

Nearby is an abandoned monastery, and Almah wanted to have it serve the role of an attack base on Kelmarane. It was good thinking, and it definitely swayed my choice in her favor. Not to mention that I might get on the Pactmaster's good side for participating in the whole scheme. The two hundred gold offered to each member of the party was a convincing sum as well.

In the end, I decided to stay with the caravan and help out with their assignment. It was better than just hunting and living off the land with no purpose other than for survival. And I had a chance to make the lives of others better, something that was a goal of mine ever since I had escaped my binds of slavery. Firon seemed happy enough; a grin a mile wide had been plastered onto his face. And Almah no longer possessed that scowl of hers when talking at me, in its place was a welcoming smile. As I look up at the twinkling stars from my bedroll beside the night fire, I can't help but think how nice it is after so many years to have friends once again.


	4. Collapse

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Pathfinder franchise, which I will borrowing from heavily during this story, any coincedence from a character to a person in real life is not intentional, etc, etc...

**Claimer: **But I do own sexy!Aesur/Firon and these stories, so you can't have them. ;D

**Warning:** This'll be good 'ol boy on boy fiction, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, plz leave kthxbai. Also there'll be much slaughtering of gremlins, dog people, and desert baddies so if violence/death isn't your cup of tea, again, plz leave kthxbai. And heed the fic rating as well. No slashy-type stuff yet, but we'll get to that later. :D

* * *

**Collapse**

**_Chapter 4_**

"So that's it, huh? Doesn't look like much of an attack base to me." Firon spoke while looking at the building that was situated in front of us, empty-looking and full of unknown promises. The two of us were crouching behind a rock, scouting out the area that lay before the monastery. Most of the walls from the outside seem intact, but a few of the towers have apparently collapsed long ago. I consider quietly to myself that the inside probably doesn't look much better.

"It's better than what we have now... only a few wagons and some tents."

The other man looks grumpy. "Yeah, whatever. If Almah says we use it for the attack against Kelmarane, then we use it for the attack against Kelmarane. I just wish it didn't look so..."

"Rundown?" I had my own opinions on the place. It could be well defended if attacked, and it was a sizable building. But structurally, the monastery's age might pose more problems than Almah had hoped for. "Um... I do have a question. You know anything about Kelmarane? I've actually never heard of it." It was true, as Almah had neglected to inform me in on the details of the town. Most likely thought I didn't need to know until later.

Firon face is grave. "Yeah, a long time ago the village was one of several in the Brazen Peaks situated around a battle market. It's a place that attracted merchants, gladiators, actors, musicians, and customers from throughout Katapesh and neighboring Osirion. Then, about twenty years ago… it fell, and the Pactmasters abandoned it to ruin. Rumors of plagues and evil curses abound, but in truth no one knows why the village died. About two years ago, a pack of gnolls inhabited the battle market and claimed Kelmarane as their own. The Pactmasters decided they want the village back, and it's up to Almah to deliver it to them." He gives an amused chuckle. "Or in other words, us."

"I see…" So the village was overrun with gnolls. No wonder Almah had hired Dashki, an expert on the feral half-beast half-men. It would have to take a lot of power to take back a city, and just the two of them and some of Almah's guards didn't seem like quite enough.

I find myself eyeing Firon's weapons, the unorthodox design of the flails piquing my interest. For each flail there are three steel chains, and placed at the end of each length is a dangerous looking spiked sphere. Owning two of the weapons suggested using both at the same time in combat, but it looks like it would take considerable skill in order to just wield one of the triple-flails. The fact that Firon is a cleric furthers my doubts... though Almah had said he could take care of himself.

"Okay Aesur, looks like the coast is clear. We're going to go into the hole in the wall on the far right, okay? Keep your guard up." The front of the monastery has two open spaces where we can enter, one more to the left and one more to the right. Rubble and broken pieces of timber obstructs the left gap, so it is a good idea to travel through the right break.

I nod my agreement and the two of us set off at a slow dash to the monastery, wary of our surroundings. But nothing out of the ordinary or threatening is here. As we enter the nave, I notice the scrub brush and a light, patchy carpet of weeds that invade the monastery through the fallen section of the stone wall. We are in a huge hallway littered with bits of debris ranging from tiny rocks to enormous sections of collapsed masonry. Most of the roof above our heads is missing, but the pillars that once held it up still stand in their silent vigil around us.

"Well, isn't this place creepy looking, eh?" The cleric's statement doesn't provoke a response, words failing me once again. Firon is absorbed in his environment, and starts slowly walking down the hallway. I follow, not wanting to be left behind. I have snuck around in the city of Katapesh and stolen what I needed, so I wasn't completely new to exploring, but this… this was on a whole other level.

As we reach the end of the hallway, there is a short set of steps that lead down into a cavernous chapel in which congregants probably would have gathered for sermons in happier times. The vibrant red and orange burst of Sarenrae still stands behind a film of dirt along the far wall, overlooking a collapsed altar. Between the stairs and the altar stand dozens of old marble benches, many overturned and even more broken into pieces. A wide walkway bisects the pews, leading directly to the raised altar. Here and there a few clumps of the original red carpet along the walkway hang on against rot and neglect.

Above the center of the chapel, dangling about ten feet from the floor, hangs a cluster of gnolls skulls in various stages of decay. Strung together like a ghoulish candelabra of twine and bone, the boulder-sized ornament hangs from the wooden rafters. Just the sight of the rotting heads causes me to pause in disgust, and Firon does the same.

"Uh, Aesur? ...Why in the _hell_ is there a bundle of heads hanging from the-" Firon doesn't finish his hurried whisper, as his gaze moves upwards along with mine. High up in the chapel's rafters, a layer of interwoven tapestries, tablecloths, and other pieces of cloth forms a cover for the wooden beams much like a wasp papers over its nest. Movement on the surface of the fabric causes me to cringe, small but rapid indents migrating across the makeshift floor.

"Firon. Be careful. I think something's up there." To compliment my words, a tiny little creature dressed in rags climbs out from inside the grisly bunch of skulls, giving an unearthly giggle and showing me the finger. A pugwampi.

The cleric looks furious. "Damn right there's something up there! It's more of those little runts!" Reacting to the man's shouts, the other gremlins above began to poke their faces through the cloth, their little beady eyes widening with surprise... and then excitement. Little, makeshift wooden bows replace where their heads were before, loaded with tiny arrows.

"By Desna's stars!" Looks like Firon is feeling the same way I am. His weapons wouldn't be of any use at this range. Even the lone gremlin on the candelabra has his weapon out and is aiming at the two of us.

Before I know what's happening, Firon has grabbed me and shoved the two of us under one of the few intact pews. Light thumps can be heard above us as the sharp projectiles embed themselves into the aging wooden bench.

Fear courses through my veins, icy cold and numbing. I can't think, I can't move, I can't breathe. I've never been backed into a corner like this before. Sure, back when I was a slave I had nowhere to turn in some situations, but I knew they would never kill me. That most definitely isn't the case with the pugwampis.

But a hand grabs my shoulder, and I'm being shaken into reality. "Aesur? Aesur! C'mon, don't freak out on me now!" I don't say anything, still stunned by the events unfolding around us.

Firon sighs, and then reaches into his navy robes. When his hand emerges from behind the folds, it is grasping a silver butterfly. It's wings are decorated with intricately carved stars, along with a moon and a sun. The holy symbol must be very valuable, and I start to get an idea of what he'd planning.

Another volley crashes into the pew right above our heads, and I can make out high pitched, shrill screams. It's not hard to guess what the pugwampis are screaming about, as none of their arrows have hit their intended mark. Yet.

"Graceful Desna, ruler over the night skies and stars above, grant us protection from these foul creatures' assaults." Almost immediately after Firon speaks, black mist begins to seep from his body, from underneath his robes, and from his eyes and mouth as well. The dark cloud envelopes the two of us, then the pew. One by one, little sparks of light burst into existance within the fog mass. I can't help but marvel at the mist's beauty, and my fear begins to seep away.

Moments later, Firon gives a relieved sigh and looks towards me. "We've got some cover now. I can't guarantee that their arrows won't hit us, but at least they don't have a target to shoot at." Almost to emphasize his point, another barrage of small thumps can be heard above our heads. The pew must be looking like a ravaged porcupine by now.

"Okay Aesur, I need you to listen to me. I'm going to summon some help, and create a distraction. That floor the pugwampis made in the rafters doesn't look that strong, and I bet we could tear through it with enough force. After I create the distraction, start shooting your arrows at them, and then if I can I'll help out. Hopefully we'll weaken the layer enough and the pugwampis will fall through." A grin creeps over his face. "To their deaths."

I'm stunned. I can't help it. How can someone create such an elaborate and well-constructed plan under these circumstances? I manage to nod, and Firon chuckles. "Don't worry, we'll make it out of here alright. You've already taken care of one of these beasts before, remember?"

The cleric is talking about the first pugwampi we encountered back in the cacti field. I suppose he's right. "Yes, I remember."

"Great. Alright Aesur, let's do this!" Another volley of arrows crash into the pew above our heads. The pugwampis don't appear to want to come down from their lofty heights, and I can't stop myself from thinking that it's a smart move.

Firon holds his symbol once again, but this time raising his hand up out from under the pew and into the mist. "I call upon your aid once more, Tender of Dreams, and ask of you to provide us with one of your loyal subjects for our cause." It's hard to see, but more of the black mist seeps out from the cleric's outstretched fist, and coalesces into an owl. With a bestial screech, the magically formed animal takes flight until I cannot see it anymore. But... I can hear it, as the pugwampis start up a frightened chorus and the sounds of flesh being rended echoes down through the fog to us.

"Now Aesur!" I scramble out from under the pew alongside Firon, and unstrap my bow. I quickly pull an arrow to the string and aim upwards, everything around me visible now that I am out of the strange black-yet-sparkling mist. I loose the projectile, the sharp point piercing through an elaborate but soiled scarlet tapestry. I aim and release my weapon towards the same spot again, but the arrows don't seem to be breaking through the cloth. So much for 'tearing through with enough force'. I'm reloading my weapon once more when one of the pugwampi's arrows lodges into my flesh, sticking into my shoulder.

I wince, pulling the shaft out of me, but luckily I haven't been hurt too badly. I've gotten worse on hunting expediti  
ons. I look up, ready to run through whichever pugwampi had shot me, but take a step back as a rock the size of a watermelon, enshrouded in sparkling black smoke, crashes through the layer of fabric. Turning around in surprise, I see Firon laughing behind me, two other mist-covered rocks floating in front of him. "I told you I would help, didn't I?"

The servant of Desna extends his arms and causes the two other pieces of rubble to careen forwards, smashing through the pugwampis floor. A great ripping, tearing noise echoes throughout the chapel and a large section falls to the floor, along with the strung bundle of gnoll skulls. The disgusting heap lands on the pews with a wet smack, but worse is what follows. What appears to be half a dozen pugwampis fall to the ground, flailing and shrieking as they fly through the dusty air. A series of sickening thuds greets me and Firon, and then silence.

We did it. The two of us went from being completely cornered to successful and relatively unhurt. I expect Firon to be grinning and congratulating our victory when I turn around, but definitely couldn't have guessed the sight that would lay before me.

The triumphant cleric gives a barely audible sigh, eyes slowly rolling back up into his head. Firon's arms fall limply to his sides and then he himself tumbles to the ground, unmoving and as silent as the dead gremlins around us.


	5. Awakening

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Pathfinder franchise, which I will borrowing from heavily during this story, any coincedence from a character to a person in real life is not intentional, etc, etc...

**Claimer: **But I do own sexy!Aesur/Firon and these stories, so you can't have them. ;D

**Warning:** This'll be good 'ol boy on boy fiction, so if you don't like that kind of stuff, plz leave kthxbai. Also there'll be much slaughtering of gremlins, dog people, and desert baddies so if violence/death isn't your cup of tea, again, plz leave kthxbai. And heed the fic rating as well. A little bit of slashy stuff is starting too! :D ABOUT TIME RIGHT? They wouldn't let me do it sooner, I swear! D:

* * *

**Awakening**

**_Chapter 5_**

Time seems to slow as the cleric falls to the dusty stone floor of the chapel with a heavy thud. A few seconds pass. He's not moving. "Firon!"

I run over to him as fast as I can, jumping over tiny broken bodies and rotting pews, reaching the downed man in only moments. I put two fingers to his neck, fearing the worst. But there's only a warm pulse, and his eyes slowly open. He's alive, thank the gods.

"Aesur? What're you doing?! We need to finish off the rest of the-" His eyes drift upwards and notices the distinct abscence of the pugwampi's makeshift floor in the rafters. He turns his head towards me. "Did we defeat them all?"

I nod. His spells had saved the day, while I didn't help one bit. I can't help but feel a bit jealous of Firon, and then I notice how close I've crouched over him in my worry. I quickly stand up and back up a few steps, trying not to act too awkward. "Uh. Y-yeah, we did. But... um... what just happened to you? It looked like you'd..."

"I got a little tired from casting so many spells at once. And they weren't exactly the easiest ones to use anyways..." He sits up, rubbing his his temples, not seeming to notice anything amiss. It's almost as if he's passing the subject off as something less important than it truly is.

I'm confused. I always thought clerics drew upon their god's power, not their own. That wouldn't explain why Firon just collapsed into a heap after casting a few spells. "But... don't you get spells from Desna? Why would you be drained by using her energies?"

Firon only smirks. "Do you really think it's that easy for a cleric to cast his spells? If that were true, every common peasant would be slinging around magic like it was nothing. Divine magic comes from the gods, yes, but the vast power of the source is unimaginable, and it takes a lot of control alongside effort to keep that in check. The more skilled a cleric becomes, the more divine power he can allow to course through his body without killing himself."

So clerics are living conduits of a god's divine might? I look upon Firon with new respect, and I think to myself about how hard it must be to channel his god Desna's power. The black, sparkling mist that Firon commands ended up to be more taxing than it had first appeared.

"Well... thank you, Firon. If it weren't for you... I'd have..." It was true. Just me and my bow couldn't stand up to Firon's power. That much was apparant from the last battle. If I had been alone, the pugwampis would have gotten tired after awhile, climbed down from the rafters, and then attacked me en masse. I probably could have taken out a few, but I would have been overwhelmed in the end.

Firon's eyebrows raise in mock surprise. "Me? No Aesur, you too served a valuable role in the battle as well. A distraction. Without you, I wouldn't have been able to fire off those rocks at the little beasts." He obviously doesn't realize the demoralization of being the 'bait' in a fight.

Sighing, I nod in resignation. "Alright. I suppose. But, um, we have to keep moving, Almah wanted us to clear this place out. Of dangers I mean."

Firon began to laugh jokingly. "Oh, so we're the obediant little mercenary are we now? I'll have to report to Almah on your good behavior." His teasing doesn't help my mood, and I turn around and walk out of the chapel back into the hallway. Firon's is a good person, and talented in a fight, but it doesn't stop the fact that he sometimes can be annoying and inconsiderate as can be.

I say nothing as Firon follows me out of the stained glass room and into the nave. The pillars alone in their silent vigil are still there, and the large hole in the wall that leads outside as well. For a moment we both stand in silence, not sure of where to go next. And then I notice the narrow hallway to my left. It's placed diagonally in the wall so if one were facing towards the chapel room it couldn't be seen. But now that the two of us are pointed in the opposite direction, our way is laid out before us.

"Let's, uh, go through here... and be careful. There might be more." Firon nods and gestures towards his weapons. I don't need to tell him what there might be more of

Allowing the cleric to take the lead, I stay close behind, inching through the tight corridor. The walls must have been at most two feet wide, and I wonder in frustration what those old monks were thinking when they built this place. After a minute or two of uncomfortable shuffiling, Firon and I enter into a larger hallway. The floor is made of a cracked marble that must have once been marvelous to behold, but for the most part the passageway isn't as rundown as the rest of the monastery. Opposite the right wall, a series of open arches lead out into a open-air courtyard.

But on the wall, there is a huge bas-relief sculpture depicting five, larger than life humanoids riding the wind with triumph carved upon their faces. They seem to be in the middle of a battle against several creatures of evil demeanor. Some of the creatures even seem to be composed at least partly of fire, while others are much more difficult to define. In the background of the imprinted picture, Pale Mountain looms large, and over it two titanic figures lock in a deadly wrestler's embrace. Once has the demonic visage of a noble efreeti, and the other a gorgeous woman who could only be a djinni princess.

The tales of djinnis are old and considered myth, though not long ago the stories' popularity rose unexpectedly, and many began to believe in the tales once again. I can't recall any specifics about the myths, as I never really payed attention to them. Some other slaves held onto them like a lifeline, but I never was interested. Now though, I wish I had listened to the stories told in careful whispers during the night between servants. Maybe then I could discern something from this elaborate carving.

"By Desna's stars... what is that thing? It looks like some kind of foul demon, or at least something of the sort." Firon was pointing at the efreeti, the figure struggling against the female djinni.

"You don't know? Well, it's an efreet. A fire spirit. They're common knowledge around Katapesh. Mischievous, power-hungry creatures that think only to consume and become stronger. The other is a djinni, an air spirit. Djinni are more kind than the efreeti, and often interact kindly with other races, even living together peacefully in some cases." I surprise myself with the flowing words that are coming out of my mouth. I always did like legends and such, but I never thought that I would be able to speak clearly when talking about them.

"Mm, I see. Well they're definitely disagreeing over something... I wonder what it is?" Firon's face is scrunched up in contemplation, but my train of thought is interrupted by a rustling behind us. Turning around, I find myself facing a wall of twisted branches and dead vines. It's almost impossible to see more than a foot or so into the bunch of dead plants. Apparently. the courtyard apparently isn't as open-air as I had first thought. "Firon! There's something coming!"

"What is it?" The cleric walks up behind me, and we both move behind a wall with only our heads cautiously poking out into the courtyard. Branches shake and crash together, and dry leaves fall from the entangling vines wrapped around the thin wooden appendages. Then the branches still. A moment passes. Firon lets out a relieved sigh behind me right before three pugwampis come crashing out of the brush, one significantly fatter than the others. It has some kind of makeshift wooden circlet on its fur covered scalp, and wields a tiny hammer instead of a longbow like the other pair behind it. The hammer, though small, glows with a red light, harsh and sinister looking.

"More pugwampis! Dammit!" Firon's outspoken words cause the trio to notice our prescence. Not good. The fat one points his hammer at us and speaks in a halting common, "You! Why you in King Mokknokk's palace? Leave, now!" The squeaky voice aside, I am surprised that the creature can talk intelligently. It didn't seem like the other pugwampis could talk. The pair at 'King Mokknok's side stay silent, reinforcing my suspicions. Most likely this one is the chieftan of some sort ruling over the pugwampis living in the monastery.

Firon takes a bold step forward, clearing his throat and reaching down to grasp the multi-flails at his sides. "What if we don't want to? King Mokknokk and his followers must leave this place immediately, on orders of the Pactmasters of Katapesh." I take his meaning and draw my bow, my arm ready to reach back and grab an arrow at a second's notice. I doubt the pugwampis will give up so easily. Another fight on the same day... though I shouldn't be surprised, Almah did warn us that this mission would be dangerous.

The pudgy gremlin violently tosses his head back and forth in refusal. "What does King Mokknokk care about your 'Pactmasters'? Yark! Grek! Get them!" At their leader's command, the pugwampis close their eyes and a wave of uneasiness sweeps over me. The odd look on Firon's face tells me he feels it too. It's just like back in the catci patch... when every little thing was taking a turn for the worse. It must be the gremlins' unique aura Dashki had told us about.

King Mokknokk closes his eyes as well, and the feeling grows denser still. Then the little monster snaps his eyes open and dashes towards Firon, swinging his hammer in a vicious arc. Luckily Firon has the sense to jump out of the way, and the pugwampi misses him completely. Adrenaline beginning to seep into my veins, I metally note that the chieftan is must faster than the others. Much faster.

But I don't have time to contemplate my next move much longer, as the two pugwampis behind Mokknokk turn to face me. It seems that they think their leader can handle Firon. The thought burning in my mind, I draw an arrow and quickly release it at the fat pugwampi. The arrow flies true... but at the last second it veers off course and crashes into the wall, clattering to the floor. King Mokknokk laughs in glee, an high-pitched, unnerving cackle that seems to reverberate in the air. For a second I can't believe my eyes, but then I remember the pugwampis' reality altering ability. This fight is going to be tougher than it first looked.

The the pair of pugwampis, likely the king's bodyguards, fire their arrows at myself next, the tiny projectiles flying wide of my figure without me having to move an inch. They curse and growl, baring their canine snouts in feral snarls. It looks like I angered them, but still I glance over to Firon on the other side of the hallway, sparring with King Mokknokk. Dodging blow after blow from the tiny chieftan, Firon holds a flail in each hand while carefully anticipating each move. Even though he is a cleric, I'm a bit surprised at his combat prowess. With a yell, Firon sweeps one of his tri-fails down on King Mokknokk's head, shattering the crown and knocking the monster to the ground. It gets back up, seeming no worse for the wear, but my eyes pick out the tirckles of blood running down the gremlin's scalp. Firon seems to be holding his own, but a squeal of anger yanks my attention back to the pugwampis in front of me.

Not to be bested by Firon, I reach back and draw an arrow, nocking it to my weapon. The pugwampis shoot at me with their tiny bows again, but the shots fly wide as I dodge and let go of the arrow in one fluid motion. One of the pugwampis yelps in pain and careens into the overgrown courtyard, the momentum of my arrow buried in its chest carrying it into the tangle of dead plants. I sigh in relief, as it looks like the aura doesn't work constantly. I still have a chance to win this fight.

Of course, not a second passes before the remaining gremlin takes advantage of my triumphant opening and attacks me with alarming accuracy. The pugwampi's arrows lodges into my thigh, eliciting a pained groan from my lips. This one hurt much more than the arrow from before in the chapel. Wincing, I attempt to aim at the little beast with my weapon, but it leaps and tumbles through the air, gigling and clapping. How it could be having fun at the moment is beyond me. Again, I crouch down to get a better shot and release my arrow at the gremlin. Perhaps this time it will strike true.

And it does. The steel-tipped wooden shaft makes its way into the pugwampi's skull, knocking it back a few feet and up against the mural-covered wall, its face forever frozen mid-laugh. Only then do I notice the arrow protruding from my stomach. Panting, I sit back onto the stone floor, staring in disbelief at my wound. The pain from my thigh travels to my brain too, and I begin to feel a bit woozy.

It takes all my control not to fall over, and through my unfocused vision I see Firon exchanging heated blows with the pugwampis' king. Hammer versus flail, the sound of metal against metal bounces throughout the corridor, bounces through my head. And then the cleric takes a mighty horizontal swipe that the gremlin tries to block with his hammer, whose attempt fails horribly. Wrapping around the metal shaft, the chains of the tri-flail rotate around the scarlet hued hammer, carrying their dangerous load into King Mokknokk's head. The gremlin king speaks a few unrecognizable words, and then drops to the floor. His hammer falls to the ground as well with a clatter, and the red glow dissapates with a hiss.

Both of us don't speak for a time, myself preoccupied with dealing with the pain of the arrows embedded in my flesh. I've never been wounded like this before. There is an actual arrow sticking out of my stomach! My breath quickens, and then Firon's face is in front of mine, his eyes filled with worry. "Hey, Aesur. Aesur? I'm going to take these arrows out, alright?" I dimly feel myself nod through the ever increasing fog.

Gentle hands guide me into a laying position, and I try and force myself not to panic. A sharp pain rips through my leg, and I yell out in agony. I hear a string of words I can't quite make out, and then another burst of pain explodes from my stomach. Suddenly I feel like I'm falling. Falling through the white mist enveloping me, the white mist inside me, inside my mind, and I can't help but scream in terror.

And then the mist around me changes from icy cold to a warm, soothing heat. Its blank shade turns darker until it stops at a midnight black. Tiny winks of light appear all around me, and my mind recognizes safety. I'm safe. The fog clears, and Firon is bending over me, holding his holy symbol. The silver butterfly is covered in a black fog, but it drifts off into the clear air around it before long. "Aesur?! Damn it, you scared me there for a second! You're lucky I was here to heal you, or else you might have ended up like those little bastards over there..." Senses now recovered, I notice no pain coming from where the pugwampis shot me. But there was somethign else that unsettled me. The conviction in Firon's words was unnerving, and suddenly I feel a warm jolt crackle through my newly healed stomach. I don't like where this is going.

Scrambling to my feet, I push Firon away from me and stand up. I notce my bow and quiver to the side, so I pick them up and strap them to my leather armor. Firon's voice sounds wary. "Aesur. Are you okay?"

Nodding quickly, I look up at the cleric. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I, uh, just've never been that hurt before. You know, from the arrows, and, um, all..." What was that I felt? That warm feeling in my torso... it doesn't matter. It's just Firon's healing magic working on my insides. It's not like I... Firon? No, not at all. Besides, he _is_ a man. It's impossible for two men to have feelings for each other. It's just not natural.

The cleric looks skeptical. "Okay, if you say so. Do you want to take a rest?" His eyes are worried, and my stomach falls into the clutches of that warm sensation once agian.

"No... we just better keep going."

Firon. No, not at all.


End file.
